Meanwhile in Germany...

Angie is getting surprise guests in the house!!! AHAHAHA, oh hey! Hey...you there, who let you in?

Seeing Merkel's face also reminded me that a lot of people talk to themselves in Berlin. Especially on trains. This one time I was riding to Charlottenburg or something dumb and this guy was loudly reciting facts to his captive audience. It went something like: "ANNNNNgela MERKEL is our PRESIDENT! SHE issssss a WOman! She is from EASTGERMANY! EAAAAAASSSTTTERNER!" He luckily had his back to me and another dude I happened to be facing. Fortunate. We were truly doing our best to laugh silently and allow him the glory of an uninterrupted monologue.

Musical Monday #14: Chemical Brothers

Wisely, Rachel and I decided to see Hanna at Cinemagic where the chairs rock. This proved useful for bumping to the Chemical Brothers soundtrack. Enjoy.

Old man in da house

Matthias turns 25. So Konrad and Max came from Germany, we drank prosecco, Dutch people stayed up past their bedtimes to sing happy birthday at midnight, we sat around a campfire, we got out the tablecloth, a cake was made, and we put balloons on the wall. Because balloons on the wall signify "special day" instead of "regular day." Prost to the quarter century.

Man of the Future

I had many theories about this photograph upon reception, including: aliens have arrived, chosen Berlin as their dropoff point and Germans must wield weaponry shirtless to prove their prowess in battle. Or at least defend the more helplessly lounging folk in the fountain with rigor. Elaborately photoshopped hoax also crossed my mind, I have no recollection of this Neptune fountain anywhere near the iconic TV tower. Turns out, it's just my fiancé in a tiny scarf, demonstrating against the man on a hot day with a squirtgun. The simplest explanation is always the winner, isn't it?

May 11th: I'm just fuckin' with you Daddy!

In case you were just tuning in, this a witty and touching recount of my most recent visit to Amsterdam. Day by day. Welcome.

I liked this day quite a bit too, it was a Tuesday. Important highlights as shown:

#1: Five doughnuts for 1 Euro 50 cents. The most basic doughnut you could possibly buy. Not too sweet, white frosting. I am going to try my best not to eat these every day come September.

#2: Kaas

#3: Matthias wanted this portable grill set. Badly. And it was only 10 Euros, so I bought it. Unfortunately it started raining as soon as we arrived home and I discovered today that he lost it after the first use. It was possibly worth it just for this photo.

#4: (Not pictured) We saw Kick Ass. Matthias had watched many previews and read reviews, I wanted to be surprised. I wasn't sure where it was going for the first 15 or 20 minutes, but after the first bruisy bloodbath where Kick Ass stands up to the car theives, I realized we were in for a hilarious treat. Matthias has excellent taste in movies.

May 8th: See you at de Bosbaan

Today was a Saturday, and it was all about the Bosbaan. Matthias had his very first crew race, and it was sort of a practice round, like pre-season. But it was a race nonetheless. He had to get up at like, 7 am, so Konrad and I did too in a show of solidarity. (Einar was staying with his Swedish friend because...well, we made his bed for him and everything but, we were asleep before he called to be let in. Sorry Nar.) Anyway, Matthias used to make me breakfast all the time when I had to get up early for dance performances in Berlin and it was awesome. So I tried to return the favor. I knew I should have hopped on a bike to scurry for breadrolls but there didn't seem to be enough time. So while he was packing his bags I made him the only breakfast we had: half a bowl of mueslix, three celery sticks with peanut butter, coffee and OJ. It was pretty miserable, but he figured there would be food there, I did too.

Konrad and I had agreed to join him at the race for the second round in the early afternoon, since he would be biking there and we would have slowed him down for the morning time. Due to the breakfast shortage, I sent Konrad forth into the world with a 20 Euro bill with the instruction "breakfast." He was a great success in the breadroll department, but somehow ended up with Mediterranean flavored low fat cheese slices called "Slankie" instead of actual cheese. Whatev. He was discombobulated. This IS the Netherlands after all, and as Dutch is decipherable for those of us who speak English and German, it's not always easy or straightforward. We realized though, that we would really have to choke that Slankie down if we were to arrive in time for Matthias' race (only goal of the day). Konrad had to ride me on the handlebars of the bike at top speed to the bus station (shrieking with laughter), but we made it.

Konrad politely confirmed with the bus driver that he was going our direction, and we requested day tickets. "Oh, hm, I'm all out of those," he told us "you'll just have to find a seat." He winked as he pointed backward with his thumb. We both looked at each other, wide-eyed in disbelief. Dutch bus tickets are EX-PEN-SIVE! And this magical gem of a man was offering us a free ride. High five. He instructed us to change buses about half an hour into the trip, we thanked him as he waved at the driver of our next ride. Again, Konrad politely confirmed that he was going our way and we asked him for day tickets. "Hm, how did you ride the other bus if you don't have a ticket?" He asked. "Oh, uh, he just told us to have a seat?" Konrad sheepishly announced. "Hm," thought the other bus driver. "Then I say that too." He pointed backward with his thumb and smiled. We couldn't believe our luck. Two free rides AND we were going to make it there in the nick of time.

As Konrad and I arrived joyously to discover the race had been postponed, so we had plenty of time, we found Matthias in a deteriorating state. "Did you guys bring food?" He asked. "Oh, uh, no. Were we supposed to?" He had sent us a text, but I'd already fried my power converter and phone was out of commission for the rest of the trip. Matthias was hungry, and was only halfway done with his racing. Trouble a'brewin'.

I've only experienced it once before in our entire time together, but when Matthias gets REALLY hungry, things go downhill fast. He turns into a shadow of a man, only goal: survival. Nothing will stop him. And it puts him in a TERRIBLE mood, which permeates all situations surrounding him. Again, I've only experienced this emergency once before, but it was BAAAAD. I had a premonition Konrad and I were in for emergency number 2, and I was scared. But I was glad I was not alone. We had a pack of Stroopwaffel in my purse (Dutch cookie treat, two crispy thin waffles with caramel between) and we offered him some. I knew it would only buy us about a half an hour though.

The race happened, Konrad and I biked alongside the river and yelled encouragement in German as Bootje 2 frantically paddled a very close race to an unfortunate last place finish. Matthias and team cleaned up their stuff and we headed out. The slippery slope began. Matthias was frowning, moving quickly, withdrawn. We found a french fry stand near a grocery store, this would buy us another half an hour or so. "I think I'm going barf if I eat these," were the only words out of his mouth. He ate them anyway. We hit the grocery store, purchased everything we needed for veggie burger dinner. A free sample of non-alcoholic beer bought us another ten minutes. His shoulders were slumping. We boarded the train back with his bike and grocery bags. Konrad and I took his bag. He leaned his bike up against the center pole, walked to the next compartment as the train jolted forward and the bike toppled, Konrad and I juggling grocery bags trying to right it. Matthias leaned his back against the wall and slid downward, collapsing onto the floor of the train. Konrad and I made eye contact through the grocery burden and sighed. The situation was looking grim. So at the train change, we continued on and he grabbed his bike with a gruff "see you back there." And bolted.

We found Matthias in his bed with earphones on as we arrived at the flat. So we unpacked the groceries and left him alone. I went to the common room to read, Konrad played Zombie killer on the computer. Apparently, Matthias eventually rose and opened a can of beans. He had his back to the door and his bare hand in the can when Einar walked in cheerfully oblivious to the workings of the day. "Hey Matthias! How's it goin'?" Matthias froze, hand full of beans. "I....just...need a minute." He said without turning. Einar immediately relocated to the common room where I got him up to speed and we remained until Matthias announced that burgers were ready. Things turned around from there :)

P.S. This last photo kind of breaks my heart every time I see it. It's at the french fry place, and pretty much sums this whole story up. Matthias' furrowed brow, the distant gaze, the pouting lip, Konrad waiting in the background, trying to put on a happy face. If the kids ever look like this, I will probably turn into a complete pussy and get them whatever they want.

May 2nd: Zombie Attack

On my second day in Amsterdam, the weather was truly disgusting. Cold, drizzling, grey. But we had a tank of a tandem bike at our disposal and hot damn if we were going to let that go to waste. We bundled up, Matthias wore a slicker. We didn't stray too far from home. Grocery store, neighborhood, cozy cafe where we ate delicious Brodjes with salmon, cream cheese and dill (me) eggplant, mint and hummus (Matthias). We were so warm and cozy in fact, that when we exited the establishment to tandem home, it seemed exponentially colder and more miserable than before. Then we began riding, wind in our faces. "UGH! Eets like being born again!" Matthias exclaimed from the captain's seat and I wobbled with laughter all the way home, wondering if it could have really been this bad the first time.

May 1st part II: For all the non-believers

I know many of you reacted with surprise and incredulity when you discovered those sexy acid wash jeans I had been sporting were meant for Matthias. "He will fit into THOSE?" You gasped. All I have to say to you is: BUH-lieve it.

Dear Jamie Oliver,

(photo from channel 4 on the Guardian website, guardian.co.uk)

Thank you.

I had recently seen advertisements for the new reality show about how we eat in America, Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution. I knew it would be up my alley from what I'd seen, but I was completely unprepared for how emotional it was. I watched episodes one and two back to back, tears streaming down my face. This man truly cares about helping human beings live happier, healthier lives together and is going straight for the source. Food. Simple, healthy, seasonal food made from fresh ingredients and learning how to prepare it and eat it together.

I was lucky enough to grow up in a family where dinner was an unspoken requirement every evening, one I looked forward to. We had chicken cheesy breadcrumb, spinach raviolis from Costco with fresh tomatoes, spaghetti and meatballs, salmon with rice and green beans, and we always sat down to enjoy it together. Mostly my mom cooked, sometimes dad would put together stew or chili or spaghetti. Both of them almost always from scratch. Neither of them ever really asked us to do it though. Neither my brother nor I ever volunteered. So once freshman cafeteria year in college was over, I was totally lost. I relied on my then boyfriend for occasional healthy meals. On my own I ate mac and cheese. The boxed kind we were never allowed to consume as children. I ate instant potatoes, lucky charms, scones from the campus store and okay, here and there a hummus and cucumber tortilla wrap. All the way to my fourth year of school when I headed overseas to Germany.

Germany is where I learned to eat. Not necessarily because Germans have the healthiest food in the world (they don't) or because they do it all right. Maybe because they make a little bigger deal out of eating. But it was mostly because other people I met during my studies, and while living there after graduation, had been taught to cook and passed on some of their skills to me. That's really all it takes. Kristofer taught me to make Swedish meatballs with potatoes, Fläskpannkaka, and apple cake. Amy taught me how to make lasagna, and that pretty much any good simple pasta meal can start with olive oil, onions and garlic in a pan. Matthias taught me how to cut an onion and how to make my own spaghetti sauce. That no matter what you have to do in the morning, you must sit down to breakfast. Matthias also taught me, that regardless of how little money you have, there is never a better way to spend it than on good, healthy food. He swatted my hand away as it reached for colored marshmallow gummies at the grocery store, wrinkled his nose in disgust when I described the box mac and cheese of my adulthood. This was one thing everyone in our Berliner squat stood behind, and I'll never forget what our downstairs neighbor said when I moved in. He always had a crock pot of soup or curry from scratch in his kitchen available for anyone who dropped by with an empty stomach. "You will never be hungry here," he told me. And he was right.

So to everyone who has ever taught me how to cook a simple dish or fed me healthy food, thank you. To Jamie Oliver, I see what you're doing and it is a massive challenge. I support you wholeheartedly and I think between you and Mrs. Obama, we can get something accomplished here.

See him yourself if you have 20 minutes to spare:

Felix, age 11

The sixth graders were surprisingly cute today for our first day of spring term. Even though he was definitely trying to be entertaining, I still shrieked with laughter when I read this. In response the warm-up question #1. Write down the first things you can remember about German last quarter, Felix writes down something totally legit. Question #2, however, was "What do you think the E.U. stands for?" (I am wondering if any of them can produce "European Union," sure enough a few of them did. Felix had other ideas though...) I'm pretty sure my favorite is the misspelling of "uterus." This is what I'm working with, hahahaaha.

Thursdays are for thinking...

So, a good friend of mine became recently smitten with a German theoretical physicist. I cannot tell you all how stoked I am because...that means now she wants to learn GERMAN! HAHAHA! SOMEONE CARES! I mean, not that I've been suppressing an portion of my being or anything...anyway. In light of getting stoked for more old-worldage on the immediate horizon, it got me thinking a bit about how obnoxious I am to pretty much everyone I know if they get me talking too much about speaking German or whatever. So, instead of talking your ear off next time we meet, I thought I could just share this essay I wrote for my (successful, BOOYA) grad school application. "Write about a multicultural experience that has affected your professional life" OKAY.

They were wearing tight acid wash denim, fluorescent ski jackets, and had strange haircuts. It was nighttime and champagne was squirting everywhere, coating joyous heads and hands with sticky fizz. A celebration. I could not entirely comprehend the reason these people were so elated, but as I watched the artificially lit neon bodies in the inky cold night, embracing warmly and clamoring over a large, graffitied cement structure in the dark, I knew it must be something terribly important. My parents were also glued to the only television in our northwest Portland home. In 1989, I was six years old and the Berlin wall had finally shuddered under the weight of popular dissatisfaction and succumbed to history. It was the first time I ever saw, or thought about, Germans.

German felt familiar to me at first “Hallo!” in a seventh grade language sampler course. It gave me something to grip, a secret string leading me somewhere unknown. I held on, intrigued. My study of German slowly escalated through high school and college until the words were pouring out of my mouth and Berlin became my first adult, post-university home. Somehow, speaking German helped me logically formulate thoughts I could never name in vagabond, gooey English. German is crisp; it is exact. Even now, after two years living in America, a German word will still accidentally escape my lips. It seemingly rearranged my neurons for a more efficient, precise fit to my thought.

Like my language neurons bypassing their convoluted English predecessors, German culture has replaced old habits as well. It offered me rules and a routine for things I had not been taught in our diverse, anything-goes, moving at breakneck speed, workaholic country. It was in Germany that I learned punctuality, social responsibility, to relate quantities with numerical values instead of approximate analogies, to bring small gifts when first invited to a home, to look everyone in the eyes while toasting, the value of leisure time, and most importantly, that there is more than one method for successful, enjoyable human existence in this modern world. Little did I know in 1989, as I watched the wall crumble, that German language and culture would one day fill my own holes of American being.

P.S. Don't even think about using this for your application. No one will ever believe you.
P.P.S. No pun intended with that last sentence! HAHAHA. You know what I'm talking about. Yes, YOU.